Vice City Saints
by batmandoUK
Summary: This story tells the tale of Tommy Vercetti, six months after the end of "GTA: Vice City", when an unexpected visitor comes to stay in the midst of a big money-grabbing scheme.
1. A Shaky Start

Guy Vercetti placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it, forever maintaining a worried look on his face. He was sat on a cheap red, faux leather couch, staring blankly at a lively portrait of a bustling café that had hung on the wall for what seemed an eternity. He had been in Vice City for mere minutes and his cousin, Tommy, was called out to "business". Guy was very aware of his infamy in the gritty underworld. His cousin had encountered plenty of interfractions with the police. Hell, even Guy himself had to send bail money to assist his cousin. The puffs of toxic smoke grew in the air as the time crawled by in the dingy apartment. Guy walked over to the window, and opened it, allowing a gust of fresh tropical wind to blow in. Guy moved over to the sink and turned on the tap. Icy water gushed from the tap, as he recovered a glass and drank. As the freezing liquid slid down his throat, it slowly eased his flustered figure, calming himself down. He leant forward onto the unit, placing his heavy head into his hands. Guy let out a large sigh. What had he gotten himself into? He had a gut feeling that this was a bad idea, but at least he had the protection of his cousin. But Tommy also had enemies. If they found out that Guy was his cousin, he would be a wanted man. The apartment door burst open, and a panting Tommy emerged with a briefcase. He threw it onto the couch. The door slammed shut with so much force that a single screw from the hinge fell out with a sharp 'ping' sound. The awkward silence was broken by heavy panting from Tommy.

"What's in the case?" asked Guy.

"You don't need to know."

"I'm your cousin, you can tell me."

Tommy looked around, and shut all the windows, and pulled down the blinds. A dim glow from behind the blinds was all that illuminated the room. Tommy hesitated before encroaching the briefcase, slowly undoing the locks on the top. After the two clicks rang out, tearing the silence of the room, the case sprang open.

Guy's jaw dropped, his cigarette falling from it to the floor. Guy extinguished it with the sole of his boot, an unchanging expression of shock pasted upon his visage. What lay before him was about half a million dollars, all in neat stacks, bound by a single strip of card. Guy's eyes widened, and reached forward in ecstasy, and then the case snapped shut.

"It's not for us," Tommy said reluctantly, looking to his right. "It's a bribe. We give it to the Haitians, they give us weapons- illegally- and we bust them for a large sum of cash. Look, I can't explain it to you properly, so I'll take you to Diaz."

Guy Vercetti knew little of Ricardo Diaz, only that he was a wealthy baron that resided in a large mansion on Starfish Island.

The cousins checked out of the apartment block, concealing the briefcase within a bag. Tommy slung it in the trunk of his Blista Compact and hopped into the drivers' seat of the car. A nervous looking Guy got into the passenger seat. Tommy hesitated, casting his gaze over the busy afternoon road. He reached over into the glove compartment and retrieved a .357 Magnum. He handed it to Guy.

"Just incase." Tommy said.

Guy weighed out the weapon, lifting it and inspecting the fine steelwork before being handed a tube similar to that of a small Pringles tube, which housed six rounds of 6 bullets.

"It's a six-shooter," Tommy mentioned before switching on the ignition and driving off into the city streets.

Ricardo Diaz's mansion was nothing short of top-notch architecture and fine 19th century masonry. The Vercetti cousins climbed the marble steps before reaching the front door, laden with a large brass door knocker shaped like a gryphon.

Diaz himself opened the door and gave the two a warm greeting. They entered the foyer, and there stood Ricardo Diaz with his arm outstretched in Guy's direction. He hastily shook it.

"Ah, you must be Tommy's cousin. Charmed. I am Ricardo Diaz. What can I do for you guys?" There was a hint of Latino in his voice, but years spent in Vice City have greeted him with a relatively heavy American accent.

"Guy wants to know about what we're doing." Tommy said, without fault.

Diaz raised his head slightly, suspiciously. "Well, you are a Vercetti, so I will tell you. Tell another soul, I've got the best hired goons at the touch of a button."

Ricardo Diaz made a throaty, sickening noise whilst running his finger across his throat.

"However, Gentlemen, let me tell you about phase 2 of the heist."


	2. The Hitman Within

"Here's how this is gonna go down," Diaz began, "We meet the Haitians at 1600 hours here." He pointed to a back alley on a large map rolled out upon a gargantuan mahogany desk. "We get there before hand and assume positions. We'll have a gunman here, here and here. Four guys, Léo, Laurence, Arnaud and Peter will show up in a car, probably something beat up," he chuckled awkwardly, before continuing, "Laurence is our mark. He's made the calls to the weapons company somewhere south of the border. He's the one we want. Well, his cellphone to be exact. Now, we commence the exchange. We hand over the money, they hand the weapons. As soon as the exchange has been made- BANG-" Diaz exclaimed, making Tommy and Guy almost leap from their skin, "Léo, Arnaud and Peter will be dead. This is where you two come in."

"Wait, what?" Guy said, a puzzled tone within his voice. He leapt from his seat.

"Yeah, er, Brainwave. This bit will be easier with two," Diaz replied.

"Forget it," Guy said sternly, attempting to walk out, but being denied by Diaz's meaty arm. He shoved him back onto the couch.

"I don't think you have a choice." Diaz made his point.

"Anyway, you two will surround Laurence, guns at the ready, asking for the cellphone and the briefcase. If he opens fire, the gunmen will fire at will and you take cover. If he hands them over, we leave. If he refuses, kill him."

Tommy Vercetti's expression adjusted itself from quizzical to determined.

"It's convoluted, but it just might work. What's next?"

"We report the calls to the police and they trace them. For a sum of money, of course. And, yes, I'll also split the contents of the briefcase." Diaz smiled.

Tommy and his cousin pulled up a chair in the Tarbrush café in the North Point mall. Guy massaged his temple in stress, gritting his teeth, not moving his head from its heavily hung position. Tommy threw the briefcase onto their table and rested his coffee upon it. He took a sip, and then spat it out, his face creasing up in disgust, looking as if he'd swallowed the vilest substance known to man.

"I'm more of a beer guy," he proclaimed loudly enough for the workers to become slightly agitated, just for his own amusement. He promptly signaled out the door of the café and led the way. "C'mon," he said, "let's get outta here."

The car pulled out from the Mall parking lot and out onto the firm roads of the Vice City suburbs. Tommy's driving was not the greatest ever, but today it seemed particularly flawless, yet slow. Guy leapt slightly from his seat when the car made a sharp right turn, heading towards an extension bridge.

"What are you doing?" Guy asked, reaching for his seatbelt buckle.

"Staking out our territory," Tommy edgily replied, glancing in every direction, as he drove into downtown Vice City.

"But the bust isn't till tomorrow!" tension and anger rose in Guy's voice.

"What did I give you the gun for, huh? Now keep a low profile, we're going behind enemy lines.

The car continued to cruise smoothly down the main road of Vice city, the main vein, that connects all areas together. The car took two more rights, and then was finally in Little Haiti. Tommy ducked slightly. "Watch yourself," he cautioned. The car decreased slightly in speed, Tommy scoping the area. Most houses were half-heartedly constructed shacks. Many roads were small dirt tracks, and most of the business establishments were in shoddy condition. Safe to say, this place wasn't exactly too modern. But the inhabitants had street smarts, but apparently not enough to detect intruders. Tommy and Guy had a good view of most of the area and had practically gone unseen.

As the car passed the Kaufman Cabs lot, their luck turned.

A good twenty Haitians were gathered outside a rundown condo, backing onto some houses, if that. Many wielded a Glock or some other kind of handgun; others were unarmed, but still looked just as ruthless. Tommy's expression worsened. "Get the hell down." Tommy ordered, shoving Guy into the back seats of the car. Guy nervously scrambled into the trunk, as he felt the car swerve wildly, alerting the Haitians. They wasted no time in spotting the intruders. Three opened fire, lead ricocheting off of the reinforced frame of the car. Another tore into the rear left tire, cutting into the rubber and rendering it almost immobile. The car began to stiffen up and jolt as it attempted to make a speedy getaway. Seven men gave chase, five with guns, two unarmed. They continued to fire, one stray bullet destroying a right wing-mirror, the shattered remains of glass falling onto the road. Tommy retrieved an Uzi from below his seat and began to 'blindfire' out the window. Over the roar of crackling gunfire, he heard the fleshy sound of a man hitting the sidewalk. One was down.

Cradled in the trunk, Guy held on for dear life. He could hear the wayward bullets impacting the trunk door. He knew that it was weakening, and it would only take a few more shots for a bullet to stream into the trunk and most likely injure him. And he feared for his cousin. He was in danger of being captured; only feet from those that gave chase- thanks to having a tire taken out and plenty of damage to the outer shell of the car. The pursuit seemed to never end. Guy frowned a determined frown. He had to help; he had a gun of his own after all, and now was time to put it into use.

He forced open the trunk door with his feet, and a torrent of daylight flooded in. The Haitians hadn't expected this. The trunk flew open, and obscured Tommy's rear view mirror, but he continued to drive, leaning even further out of the window, trying to find his targets. But now he had assistance. Guy opened fire after positioning himself and finding his targets. His first two bullets connected perfectly with another pursuer, who proceeded to fall back in the middle of the road, limp and growing increasingly pale. Guy didn't know whether it was fear or pure adrenaline that increased his aim, but he was helping regardless. Despite this, Guy was now exposed and an easier target, but he never considered this factor. He continued to fire, whilst breathing a sigh of relief after narrowly dodging an accurate shot. Guy felt the wind from the bullet sweep across his face as it buried into the back seat. Two more men fell, a single bullet buried in their chests, to the concrete, as the car finally swerved onto the main road, away from the Little Haiti settlement. Guy shut the trunk door and clambered back into the back seats.

"Woo!" Guy let out a cry of excitement. Tommy looked round at his cousin and smiled. He was proud.


	3. Bad Blood

Guy's bleary gaze began to come into focus as his eardrums were invaded with the sharp trill of the telephone, ultimately waking him up. He ran his palm along the coffee table opposite the couch, searching for the phone. He located it, then raised the receiver to his ear.

"Hello?" Guy's words just managed to slur from his relaxed lips.

"Ayy, can I speak to Tommy please?" The thick accent was way too familiar. It was Diaz.

Guy sat bolt upright, still struggling to open his eyes even wider. He half-shouted through the open door. "Tommy, phone!"

About a minute later, a just as dazed Tommy slouched from his bedroom, scowling, possibly from the lack of sleep. Reluctantly, he snatched the phone from Guy and held it to his ear. "Talk to me," he casually said, the tone in his voice suddenly awakening.

"So guess what I hear? You two meddling behind enemy lines!"

Tommy scratched the nape of his neck, in a nervous manner.

"Yeah, about that..."

"You've definitely got some explaining to do Tommy," Diaz sternly said, sounding more like an angered parent than a friend. "This is no time to play games, Tom, we've got a big plan ahead, and thanks to your little stunt, it could have all gone to pot! If they're smart enough- which they're most likely not- then they could cancel the whole deal! It'll be a shambles, Tommy, and you'd be the centre of the blame. Why not keep yourself occupied by showing Guy around the city? At least until we commence operations."

There was a click and the phone line went dead. Ricardo Diaz was not a man of few words, but was abrupt and to the point. He would rarely end a conversation with 'Goodbye' or 'have a nice day'.

Tommy looked over at his cousin and sighed, reaching for his car keys. He threw them at Guy. "Get up," he urged, "we're going out. Again." He took a step forward, gritted his teeth and hissed in realization. His car was wrecked, it'd have to be serviced.

"Actually, forget it-"

"No, I've got my Piaggio," Guy butted in, shaking his keys.

Tommy let out a sigh and walked outside. He looked at the scooter sitting there outside the apartment block. To be specific, the scooter was a relatively new Piaggio Zip 50 2t. The bike was perfect for winding in the bustling streets of southern Europe, where it was built. To be fair, it possessed excellent handling and went fast enough to evade most chases.

Guy always had a penchant for scooters such as this one. Unfortunately, Tommy didn't share his cousin's enthusiasm.

"You've gotta be kidding me." Tommy grimly exclaimed as he reluctantly clambered onto the back of the long padded seat that lined the back compartment.

"You'll learn to love it," Guy replied, placing his helmet securely on his head. He turned his head to Tommy, who shrugged and simply said, "I'll not wear one."

Guy sat on the front of the seat, and turned the ignition on. He revved the engine, checking that his beauty was still running smoothly. A harsh purr evoked from the scooter, indicating that it was as healthy as it had been when purchased. The engine grumbled as the scooter flew into the distance. The harsh wind being blown against them blustered through Tommy's hair as they drifted easily along the concrete. Stray hair swung into his eyes, as he tried to put it back in place with increasing frustration. As the name of the vehicle suggests, it did indeed zip through the winding, bustling streets, narrowly avoiding a fracas with any other pedestrian or driver. Guy was surprisingly nimble on a bike. Tommy gritted his teeth as they sharply swerved round another bend and sped on past the morning city-life. A bulge in Tommy's pocket rang. He tried to ignore the shrilling of his cell phone, but the more he neglected it, the more it seemed to ring out. Guy pulled over, and nodded back to Tommy. "Make it quick," he instructed.

Tommy leapt of the back of the seat and went over to a grassy knoll on the other side of the road. He retrieved his cell phone and put it to his ear.

"Hello?"

A different, yet still familiar voice answered the call. "Tommy, my man!"

Tommy, sighed. "Lance."

"Oh, that's just charming man, I call you, and you treat me like this?"

"Sorry," Tommy chirped sarcastically, "This better."

"Yeah, cool, cool," Lance agreed, "Now listen brother, I've heard about some shit going down between the Haitians and the Cubans. There's been bad blood down that way for a while now, but it's going full scale, man!"

Tommy's face grew more anxious. "Excuse me?"

"Two people have been shot man. Your little plan might not go down, if these guys are only focused on the Cubans."

Tommy stood there, and began to brainstorm; humming to himself about what he'd have to do next to get the plan to work. "I got it! Why don't we just move the place of the deal. Sunshine Autos, just off of Escobar International."

"I like your style man, real fresh."

"I think I've heard that before."

"Well, I'll head the plans to Diaz. I haven't spoke to the guy for a while."

"See you, then."

Tommy put the phone back in his pocket, and massaged his temple. He looked up, and Guy was still sitting at his scooter, waiting.

"You ready to go?" he called over.

"Yeah," replied Tommy, running across the road, skimming a red Hermes as he went.

Tommy mounted the back of the seat, as Guy effortlessly flicked the ignition on. The scooted flickered with life as it flew away into the horizon.

"You're kidding," Diaz exclaimed down his phone receiver.

"No, I spoke with Tommy, and the 'deal' will be safer down at Sunshine Autos. The Cubans will never suspect it.

Diaz looked around his study and contemplated the situation. "Okay," he began, "I'll forward it through to the Haitians, and Lance… Don't do anything stupid."

They both chuckled as Diaz put the receiver down.

In a vacant Taxi cab lot in Little Haiti, Laurence, Arnaud, Peter and Léo were huddled around a telephone, listening intently on the stern instructions of who they thought was their ally, Diaz. They nodded and conferred, blissfully unaware that three armed Cubans were hanging on every word that both Diaz and the Haitians said. They all grinned from ear to ear. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps on wood rang loud enough to alert the Cubans. Their hearts raced. They sprinted, as fast as their legs could carry them, down the dirt roads that intertwined amongst the shacks that lined Little Haiti. They took cover behind an ancient-looking stock car that lay ruined by an apartment block. As the night-crickets buzzed together, creating an eerie chorus, one of the Cubans' phones rang. The sharp, trilling noise echoed through the back-streets as the Cuban more desperately fumbled for his phone. He picked it up and ran to a quieter place to answer it. The other two, perplexed looks on their faces, stayed frozen in their positions.

The Cuban answered his cell phone outside a local Laundromat.

"Hello?" his Latino accent was heavy, but he still spoke good English.

"What you got for me, Diego?"

"Diaz's gang has sided with the Haitians."

There was a gasp from the receiver. "Traitors."

"Exactly, sir. Should we go down there and bust the deal?"

"What?"

"Well, there's gonna be an arms trade tomorrow at four in the Sunshine autos garages."

"We'll be there. But later. We have the element of surprise on our side."

The Cuban on the phone continued to stroll back into little Havana, unaware of his counterparts he'd left behind.

The next morning, they never returned.


End file.
